The Parking Lot Is the New Basilica

By Dana Delibovi

Adorned
by a single bay-tree
in the way of an altar—
raw, dappled—
 
what’s called an island,
though it’s unmistakably
without breezes,
kneels down on
 
the blacktop, usually
peopled with kids criss-
crossing their thumbs over
technological brocades; and
 
always the sacred
vault of afternoon
stares down on
on shopping carts, empty
 
but for cents-off coupons,
and on tailpipes emitting
what might as well
be frankincense
 
—breathed,
a dispensation for the kids
to hurl themselves (bagged, folded)
into the castoff box and to
 
bang on the vacant
time-slice of the present
until a Sanctus pipes out, fluid as
money, loud as craving.


Dana Delibovi is a poet and essayist from Lake Saint Louis, Missouri. In 2020, her work has appeared in The Confluence, Apple Valley Review, and Noon. She is the 2019 winner of the James Haba Award for Poetry.